


Buoyancy

by stephanericher



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:33:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And they are deep into the water but it’s not so shockingly cold anymore; they’ve been holding onto each other and keeping each other afloat (they’re both the buoy and neither of them is, like some kind of stupid philosophy paradox).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buoyancy

The first time Lance talks to Hunk, they talk about eggplant seeds. Hunk’s the one who brings them up and Lance can’t remember now exactly what he’d said, only the rhythm and the timbre of Hunk’s voice as they’d sat in that tiny little dorm room that would be cramped if even one person was living there, maybe two meters apart on their respective beds, Hunk’s sheets pressed and tucked in and Lance’s already tangled and hanging off the mattress. And he’s listening, yeah, but the thing that sticks out more than the subject (and the only thing he really remembers looking back) is how Hunk’s voice sounds a little like the ocean, rolling at mid-tide against his ankles as he wades. Lance likes Hunk already.

The thing is, Hunk doesn’t actually like water that much. He says his favorite things to do at the beach are building sand castles and playing volleyball, and he doesn’t think it’s unfair that they aren’t allowed to take baths here because it’s the desert and they’re on water rations. Lance convinces him to take swimming for PE one semester and he complains the whole time (not the way Lance does, because of the overly-chlorinated, overly-recycled water) and he’s stuck in intermediate level while Lance is in the advanced class and they spend approximately two seconds per period together. And okay, maybe that’s a mistake, but it doesn’t make Hunk any less watery (that’s probably the wrong word, but whatever, close enough).

It’s not just his voice but the way he is, the way he looks at Lance sometimes, the focus of his eyes like waves eroding the foots of cliffs, and the things he says, urgency of his words building like sea foam on a stormy day. It’s the way he pulls Lance back from doing anything really stupid, like the time he almost falls of the roof of the main classroom building or the way he argues with Lance for ten minutes because they’re definitely going to get caught being out after curfew this time, and then the knock on their door sounds and they flick off the lights and fake sleeping before the dorm monitor can unlock the door and check (and he makes Lance eat his words, but at the time being caught seems like a fate worse than death). It’s like Hunk is the gentle current forcing its way against the riptide, carrying him parallel to the shore until he can swim in close enough that he’s stubbing his toes on the sand.

But good waves don’t always last; storms and hurricanes will always come along, and the two of them being dragged off to space in a robot lion along with Pidge (understandable), Keith (why him?) and Shiro (who is apparently alive and got abducted by aliens) is kind of like that, only times five. Or a million, or even a bigger number, because it’s like he’s getting sucked under the waves and then pulled back up but by the time he remembers to breathe he’s already swallowing water again, but the only thing that stabilizes him is Hunk. Because Hunk’s as freaked out as he is about all of this, and somehow it’s reassuring; somehow he clings to Hunk like a buoy and stays afloat as the rain pelts him in the face. Only he’s so focused on the storm around him that he doesn’t realize that this whole time, this whole time they’ve been in space or maybe even longer, maybe since they’d sat across from each other that first night in that room all the way back light-years (light-millenia?) away in space, that he doesn’t notice that clinging to each other takes on a whole new meaning and context. Until Hunk kisses him and Lance is flooded. (He’s already flooded but this floods the rest of him in confusion and wonder and warmth, and makes him never want to let go.)

And they are deep into the water but it’s not so shockingly cold anymore; they’ve been holding onto each other and keeping each other afloat (they’re both the buoy and neither of them is, like some kind of stupid philosophy paradox), bobbing on this turbulent sea through winds and wormholes and battering rams of Galra fire like some virtual reality first-person shooter turned terrifyingly, uncannily real. But sometimes the water stills; sometimes the sun and the moon are far and the tides are quiet and they can steel a few minutes here and there, lean on each other and mostly not talk (because talking now is too much of relaying orders and status updates, shouted warnings and words of war, and even when it isn’t their voices still sound half-wrong sometimes). But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other words to be said, and sometimes their voices and ears aren’t too tired for them.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk says.

He leans back against the wall; the shift of his weight pulls at the mattress underneath him and Lance edges closer in response. This room is five times the size of that dorm room back at the Garrison, and most of it’s empty—but it doesn’t feel empty, or rather it doesn’t feel full of nothing (there’s a difference, okay?) and even with the centimeters between them on the bed, it’s cozy. And then Lance closes the gap, bumping his shoulder against Hunk’s.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for keeping me grounded.”

His arm slips around Lance’s waist and Lance can barely register it because his brain is already too busy trying to process what Hunk means by that. Lance is always trying to climb in his lion and get altitude before he has to go and be a leg again, and Hunk’s the down-to-earth one who used to maybe have a thing for a girl made of rocks (not that Lance is jealous or anything), and—oh. Hold up.

That’s the kind of thing he can’t reply to, the kind of thing he can’t even really express (there’s no way he’d be able to call Hunk his ocean or something because that’s not even how it works or even close to how he feels about it, and there is no word or expression succinct and simple enough to say it, and Lance knows how to ramble and circle about his point but he’s not going to do that for this because this is too important). So he doesn’t say anything. There are no words. (Okay, maybe there’s something in Altean but then again there probably isn’t, and he can ask Coran and Coran will think he means a lava pool.) Hunk’s fingers curl around his hip, leave warm impressions like the outlines of bones on an x-ray. Lance finds Hunk’s free hand, clasps it in his own.

“This position’s kind of awkward,” says Hunk.

“So what?” says Lance.

They stay that way until long after it’s comfortable.

**Author's Note:**

> hanceomeweek d4 (tumblr)
> 
> this is way too self-indulgent so thank you for reading til the end <3


End file.
